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The Beaver Pond
Last October
Leaves walked tip-toe footprints,
delicate, on dark water.
Wrinkled brown tongues lapped
towards dry land. Everywhere
low light fell bright on stripped
white branches.
Open were the pond’s shiny spaces,
dry and withered were its reeds.
Clouds floated in the tarn’s spotted mirror.
Islets of seeded grass marked spots
where underwater logs rotted back to life.
We gazed on emptiness, empty nests,
and a burnt, tanned earth that waited
for what strange second coming?
The wind’s chill arm wrapped us
in the silent thought of oncoming winter.
rogermoorepoet 
How very beautiful you poetically describe it. “Second coming” remined me of Yeats’ poem in which he ‘makes use’ of ‘second coming.’ This past while I’ve been reading a lot of Yeats, both prose, drama and poetry. Roger, I admire your poetry. Never stop – something I expect you couldn’t do even if you wanted to. Images, figures of speech, beautiful words enchant you for certain.
Robert
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This is such a kind comment, Robert. It is indeed a reference to Yeats. I am working on my selected poems right now: Stars at Elbow and Foot. Selected Poems (1979-2009). Cover is designed, first set of galleys complete, but still more work to do. Allison Calvern was kind and helped me with both revision and choice. Hopefully, this book will soon be with us.
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